


A Game of Chess

by JSheets716



Category: Welcome to Hell - All Media Types
Genre: Afterlife, Big Bang Challenge, Character Death, Gen, Jonathan Combs - Freeform, Purgatory, W2H - Freeform, Welcome to Hell big bang, welcome to hell - Freeform, wholewheatsins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:32:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JSheets716/pseuds/JSheets716
Summary: Jonathan dies an accidental death, one which Sock has no involvement in. As such, he goes to neither Heaven nor Hell, but Purgatory. There, he meets an old woman, who introduces herself as Death, much to Jonathan’s utter disbelief. She promises to return his soul… if he can beat her in a game of chess.





	A Game of Chess

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for the Welcome to Hell Big Bang 2018. I was partnered up with the fantastic wholewheatsins@tumblr. com. Check them out, because their artwork is phenomenal and their advice and suggestions helped make my story a thousand times better. Additionally, I'd like to thank InfaWrit10, for beta-ing for me. And of course, this fantastic community of creative spookyholes!.
> 
> Warning! Major character Death ahead! Also, I was totally influenced by Harry Potter and The Seventh Seal. I've never actually seen The Seventh Seal but I've seen the motif of Death playing chess countless times, which is how I incorporated it into my story. I hope you enjoy!

The first sound he heard was the ringing of a loud bell as things around him grew dark. It was the sound of a nearby church bell, one scheduled to ring every hour on the hour, each ring delegating how much time had passed in a day.

For Jonathan’s fading consciousness, however, each ring seemed to designate something else.

_Ring_

He could no longer see the confines of his tiny metal prison, as the semi-truck had his grey two-door vehicle pinned. The airbag, which had done its best to shield him from harm, had soon disappeared from his vision entirely.

_Ring_

Minutes ago he could taste the metallic taste of blood that had fled from his mouth as the ringing continued. The pain in his head, however, had intensified with each chime, almost as if the bells and his migraine were working in harmony with each other, determined to make his final moments unbearable.

_Ring_

He couldn't move, pinned down as he was. But that hardly mattered, as soon he couldn't feel anything at all. He didn't feel the pieces of shrapnel embedded in his side, or his cramped legs tightened together or the soft-yet-firmness of the airbag he was smothered in. He didn't register the blood dripping down from the cuts on his head, or the blood pooling together and dyeing his grey hoodie red, or the wetness and stickiness of it all.

_Ring_

The bells finally began to slow down, and even his splitting headache from his crushed body began to fade, and it was then that he heard a voice.

“Hey!” It cried, panicked and afraid. For a split second, he could have sworn it almost sounded like Sock. But that was impossible. It was Saturday, after all, and Sock always liked to do whatever it was demonaries did on his days off. He opened his mouth to speak, and instead let out a groan and a cough. Blood spattered the airbag, but he couldn't see or feel it. He heard the same voice cry out again, more frantically.

“S-Soc…” he muttered, struggling and trying to turn his head to the sound of the voice. But still unable to see, he had no idea who it was that was calling to him.

“Hey!” The voice seemingly changed pitch and tone. “Are…”

But whatever else the voice said was drowned out by a loud…

_Ring_

“....et you some hel-”

_Ring_

And then he was gone.  
  
  


\---------

“Hey!” A voice called out to him, and suddenly he felt the sharp poke of metal touching his side. It was still and thin, not unlike the shrapnel from the car earlier. Jonathan instinctively moved, opening his eyes. He found he was on his back, and his entire body ached. He blinked a few times and rubbed his eyes, trying to get his bearings.

He could see nothing once again, but this wasn't all-encroaching darkness like he had experienced when he passed out. It was just blackness, a deep void. There was no determining where the floor began or ended, it was just a blank, empty space. He reached out his hand, and with great relief he found that he could see his hand. So he wasn't blind. And then he saw the red sleeve of his hoodie, and that confused him.

“ _Red_?” He thought to himself, going to sit up. His head spun, and he held an arm out, trying to steady himself, but he had nothing to grab on to.

That is, until his hands touched a chilled rod of metal that was just off to his left. He looked over and saw the rod was actually a cane, and holding on to that cane was a person.

“Hey. Are you alright?” The person asked, and Jonathan saw the person was a woman. Jonathan stared up at her, letting go of the cane as he did. She was the only thing in the space that had any sort of color to her.

She was a little thing. Her skin was brown, a web of wrinkles with the occasional liver spot. Her hair was a stunning grey, wavy and long, adorned with a wilted marigold flower and tied back in a messy bun. Her golden eyes glinted with mischief. It was a look that gave Jonathan goosebumps. Her eyes hid behind a pair of thick, bottle-capped lenses that sat behind a pair of orange frames. She was wearing a light pink button-down shirt. On the breast of the shirt was a vibrant orange monarch butterfly. Wrapped around her shoulders was an old purple shawl, obviously worn and fraying. Completing the outfit was a pair of white slacks and purple slip on sneakers.

“Are you alright?” She asked again. Slowly, she began to bend over, and it was then that Jonathan realized she had extended her hand, seemingly to try and help him up. The young man immediately pulled himself to his feet with ease, completely forgetting that moments ago he couldn't move, much less hoist himself from the ground.

“I'm fine.” He said, with some forced indifference. He looked down at his hoodie, which was adorned with huge splotches of blood down the arms and chest, interconnecting and intersecting with the little remnants of grey that remained. His jeans hadn't escaped blood-free either. In fact, they were worse for wear, as Jon spotted several holes and tears that hadn't been there that morning.

Jonathan could still feel the tang of metal in his mouth, but didn't see or feel the dried blood dripping down his chin. “What happened?” He thought.

He looked for Sock. Wherever he went, the demon wasn't far behind. He had become especially active in the past few weeks, barely giving Jonathan time to breathe from 9 to 5. Jon only got an hour respite from the specter that haunted him, and Jon didn't know why Sock stuck to haunting him during mandated work hours. Maybe it was a demon thing?

All Jonathan saw was black. No walls or floors or even a ceiling to divide him or to tell him where something ended and something began. There was just whatever… space he was standing on, and her. The woman. He turned his gaze back to her, and for a brief instance, he thought he saw the butterfly broach on her shirt flap its little wings. But when he checked again, it was as still and quiet as the air around them.

“Where… are we?” Jon asked, unable to hide the confusion and surprise out of his voice. Normally he would have tried his best to act totally nonchalant. He had managed well enough when Sock had shown up. But this was too surreal. The woman smiled at him, and flashed him a grin. Some teeth were missing. But her eyes practically beamed bright light, and dimples formed around her eyes as she gave him his answer.

“Purgatorio. You're in the in-between, dear.”

Jon let out a “huh” in response. He supposed after being haunted by Sock for a few months, the idea of purgatory wasn't a surprising one. He knew Hell existed, and demons existed. So why wouldn't purgatory? His panic receded. He could handle this. He managed Sock well enough.

“So, I'm dead.” He asked, and then the memories came flooding back. He remembered fiddling with the car’s radio, a loud blaring and the sound of a truck’s horn, and the taste of blood. The church bell’s chimes echoed throughout the empty space. He didn't notice the woman nod in response to his question.

_Ring_

He looked around for the source of the sound, but all he saw was the old lady, who made no notice of the noise. The ring faded into the expanse of black, and the woman looked back at him. Then, she smiled.

“I'm Jonathan.” He introduced himself, deciding not to mention that he might be hearing things.

“Catrina.” She replied, her free hand extending to offer a handshake. For a brief second, Jonathan saw that Catrina’s hand had been replaced with that of a skeleton’s. It was white and bony and the sight gave him chills. But when he blinked again, the hand was replaced with Catrina’s. It was light brown and wrinkled. Jon shook it all the same.

_“Get it together, Combs. You're hearing and seeing things.”_ He scolded himself, remembering the rumors at school. Rumors that he was crazy for talking to himself all the time. Rumors started thanks to Sock. He looked around for the demon again, and couldn't help but be disappointed when he didn't see Sock. A familiar face, even if that face was slightly homicidal, would have been nice.

He turned back to the task at hand.

“So, you're dead too?” He asked.

Catrina nodded and smiled. “I suppose you can say that.”

Jon looked around again. “So now what? We're just supposed to sit here?” He asked, looking to the stranger for advice. To his surprise, Catrina shook her head.

“No. What happens next is entirely up to you.” Catrina answered.

She placed both hands on the top of her cane, lifted the cane up, and then stabbed it into the ground. It was then that Jonathan heard a loud whirring noise, and the ground began to lightly rock and shake. He steadied himself, keeping balance so as to not fall over. His green and bloodied shoes had little traction to help him keep on balance. Catrina hadn't budged at all, unaffected by the floor’s movement. She casually turned her head to her right, and Jonathan’s eyes followed suit.

A large rectangular section of the floor slid open, revealing a trapdoor of sorts. The whirring and rocking suddenly increased, and Jonathan could faintly see something rising out from the ground. The whole thing reminded him somewhat of the orchestra pit at his high school. But instead of lifting up an entire high school music class, the tiny elevator lifted up what appeared to be a small table. Accompanying the table were two large and plush red armchairs, the kind Jon had only seen in cartoons.

When the elevator stopped moving, Catrina slowly walked over to where the table and chairs were, using her cane as leverage to walk. “Are you coming? We're not getting any deader, you know.”

Jon followed suit, and as he reached the table he realized it wasn't a table at all, it was nothing more than an empty chessboard. Perfect squares of alternating rows of white and black. The chessboard’s frame was a light wooden brown, and Jonathan could see ornate designs carved into the wood. The eyes of festive skulls stared back at him, accompanied by a variety of wooden flowers and monarch butterflies.

He glanced back at Catrina, with her wilted flower resting in her hair and her butterfly broach, and then his eyes fell on her metal cane again. He hadn't noticed it before, because her wrinkled hands had covered it, but the cane was topped with a small metal skull.

But it wasn't the spooky Halloween skull he had expected. The skull had bright colors of pink and orange and yellow painted on it, in intricate designs. It was the weirdest skull Jonathan had ever seen. Instead of being frightening or menacing, the skull on her cane seemed almost…. friendly and jovial, inviting. It didn't give him chills, but instead made him feel relaxed, like he wasn't alone.

And he supposed he wasn't. He looked back to the senior, who was studying him with a great deal of interest.

“Would you like to play?”

Jon stared at her, incredulously. “We have more important things to figure out. Like where we are, and what's gonna happen to us.” Jonathan reminded her. _“Maybe she's senile.”_ He thought to himself.

“I can assure you I most certainly am not senile.” Catrina answered his thought aloud, without missing a beat. Jonathan’s eyes widened in shock and before he opened his mouth to ask, Catrina countered him again. “I know what you're thinking because I can tell everything you're thinking. I know you, and everything about you, Jonathan Combs, because I possess your soul.”

Jonathan stared at her again, and then couldn't help but burst out laughing. He covered his mouth to try and stifle it, but a few hearty laughs escaped regardless. “Yeah. Okay.” He said, sarcastically, between chuckles.

Catrina rolled her eyes in annoyance. Clearly it hadn't been the first time she had heard such a response. And it probably wouldn't be the last, either. “I'm not kidding. You remember dying, don't you? From the car crash?” Catrina asked, turning serious for the first time since they met.

_Ring_

Jonathan remembered the truck’s horn again and suddenly being tossed around, his car careening off the road into a nearby ditch. He recalled a voice calling out to him, full of concern and fear... The church bells ringing...

“Right. You said I was dead. How’d you…” Jonathan stopped, shivering slightly as Catrina gave him an omniscient look. A look that told him she knew everything about him, as she promised. A look that told him that Catrina was in charge, that she was not senile, and that he'd have to watch out. Catrina was not one to be crossed.

“The truck came out of nowhere. How do you think I know that? You died on September 14th, at 9:36 in the morning. Dead when a truck sped a red light and hit you on Madison and Grove. Want to know how I know all that?” The woman asked.

But Jonathan knew the answer. The old woman’s white hair seemed to shimmer, and her round and wrinkled face turned pale and faint white right before him. Brown turned to white, and black circles covered her eyes, almost like paint. Dapples and splashes of various colors appeared on her face in intricate patterns. Oranges and yellows and pinks and purples performed an elaborate latticework of design, mirroring the skull on the cane she held in her hand.

“I am **Catrina Calavera! La Muerte La Dama…** though I guess you'd call me the **Grim Reaper.** ” Catrina finished with a dramatic flourish.

Jon supposed that made sense. After all, she was here with him, in Purgatory. She knew things she couldn’t possibly know, down to the exact timing of his death. Not even Jonathan knew when he died. He wondered why he didn't find Catrina’s true identity surprising, and remembered Sock. If a homicidal demon could wear a dress and be bright and cheery, why couldn't Death be an old lady?

“Kay.” He said, studying Catrina’s new face. For a second he saw the wilted yellow flower in her hair come back to life. Maybe. When he blinked, it had gone back to being dead.

“Though I’d prefer if you call me Catrina. I don't like the name. ‘Grim Reaper’ just sounds so scary. Do I look scary to you?”

Jon snorted, the sound escaping his throat. “The woman dressed up as a skeleton doesn't think she's scary. Makes sense.” He muttered, sarcastically.

Catrina made a face of displeasure. “I said I'm not scary! Now come on. We have a game to play.”

“A game?”

“Certainly. You didn't think the chessboard was all for show, did you?” She asked.

“Shouldn't you be… I don't know? Sending me to Hell or Heaven or wherever?”

“What's your rush? Neither place is going anywhere. Come on, come on.” Catrina ordered, leading him over to the table.

Jon studied the woman with the painted white face as she grinned at the chessboard, her missing teeth made all the more prominent when on the face of a skeleton.

Her gaze to the chessboard was filled with immense pride. “I have so many memories of this board. I've played against the saints, the Devil…. boy does he hate losing! I even played against a little friend of yours…. the boy in the skirt with the silly hat.” That description could only fit one person…

“Sock? He was here?” Jonathan asked.

Catrina smiled, but couldn't help but note. “Certainly! Thought why a boy would have such a name like that…” she muttered to herself, shaking her head. “Such a strange child. But nice too. He wouldn't stop talking about you.”

Jonathan couldn't help but be irritated. Even when Sock wasn't around, he had a way of being absolutely infuriating. “Tch. Annoying lirrle…”

“Don't you want to know what he said?” Catrina challenged. Jonathan let out a sigh of frustration. She reminded him of his grandmother, who always was eager to share the next glint of gossip that hung on her lips.

“Not really. It doesn't matter to me.” Catrina didn't seem to like his answer, because she pouted at the response.

“You may act like you don't care about him, but deep down I know you do. Now can we play the game, please? It's rude to keep a lady waiting.” Catrina chided.

Jonathan supposed he wasn't going to get out of here without a game first. He considered declining the offer. But what if he did? What would happen then? Would he and the stranger just stare at each other until she decided where he'd end up?

Catrina had said what happened next would be entirely up to him, but Jonathan didn't care much either way where he'd end up. As far as he saw it, there were only two possibilities. Both of which were equally terrible, almost as bad as being alive. Almost. Hell meant eternal suffering. Heaven was supposed to be a paradise, but he couldn’t see himself being happy surrounded by angels and harp music. He hated the harp. So why bother caring where he went? But then his gaze went to the woman, who was studying him expectantly.

“Fine.” The teen relented.

“Weehee!” Catrina shouted in excitement, bouncing her cane up and down, before going over to the chair. Jonathan watched her go.

_SHE’S the Grim Reaper? SHE’S the harvester of souls? It doesn't make any damn sense. She's not even like the stories._

“There's no way you're Death.” He said, going to take his place at the table. The woman took the space opposite his, facing him.

“And why…” she started to say, pausing slightly as she tried to climb up on the chair, taking a few moments to sit down. “...Is that…” a few more instances of struggling, before she settled in and finished, panting slightly as she ended her sentence. “...so hard to believe?” She asked.

Jonathan stared at her, dumbfounded by her question.

“Do I really need to say it?” He asked as he sat down, but she didn't answer, merely motioned for him to speak. So, he did, the words coming out rather blunt: “You're an old lady.”

“And you're a mouthy teenager.” She retorted. “Now are we going to play? White goes first.” She said, before tapping the side of the table with the metal cane that she held in her hand.

Instantly, the squares on the table opened up, and two sets of identical looking chess pieces rose up from underneath, each piece in their pre-designated place on the board. Jonathan stared at the board, and back at the woman, who smiled.

“This isn't your grandmother’s chess set.” Catrina informed him, beaming all the while.

Jonathan said nothing, looking to the board, contemplating his first move. He glanced at the pieces, and then back to her.

“You're just… not what I expected.” He admitted after a few seconds of contemplation.

Putting aside the fact that she was an elderly woman for the moment, which he did not expect Death to be, Jonathan also didn't imagine the Grim Reaper would be so friendly or inviting. And then there was the colorful outfit, which was so bright and cheerful it made Sock look depressing by comparison. Jon couldn't recall the last time he saw such varying hues. Perhaps he wore too much grey…

Her arms danced animatedly above the pieces, her nimble, bone-like fingers appearing white as a skeleton’s, changing color before his eyes. Her arms were webs of blue veins which were only accented as her brown skin turned ivory. Jon noted she had a few bruises, wounds received from being careless or perhaps a bit too clumsy; she bruised far too easily for her liking. The bruises on white bone made them stand out all the more.

“What were you expecting?” Catrina asked him as she studied her side of the board.

“I dunno. A skeleton, I guess?” Jonathan admitted. It was silly, but he supposed after having spent the last few months haunted by Sock, there were more ridiculous things. The white makeup on her face and arms didn't hurt his expectations, but she was still very much a person. No amount of parlor tricks would change that.

“Well, I suppose I am a bag of bones….” she smiled at him again, her teeth showing again. She had laugh lines and a pair of dimples, even in her old age, and her bright gold eyes were scrunched in joy behind a pair of thick heavy glasses that sat behind a their frame.

“I mean… where's the black cloak?” He asked, taking note of the outfit she wore. It was without the familiar Halloween accoutrements. Pink and purple were hardly Halloween colors, after all. It was almost as if she chose the outfit specifically to counterpoint his preconceptions of Death.

“Oh, that old thing? That's not a cloak, I think you mean my sweater?” She asked, entirely innocently. “It's in my closet.” When Jonathan didn't seem convinced, she added. “I get cold easily…”

So that explained the cloak. “But what about the scythe?”

The woman laughed, her hand going to her mouth as she tried to stifle it.

“Hohohoho. That's just my cane! They're still telling that scythe story? You humans and your imaginations!”

She was practically beaming again, and Jonathan noticed her long white hair sway slightly as she laughed. The flower sprung to life whenever she laughed, brightening and then darkening in time with her chuckles.

“So all that's just bullshit?” Jonathan asked. _“She's messing with you, Combs. She HAS to be.”_ He thought to himself. _“Stop fucking with me, lady.”_

The woman stopped laughing, and rapped at the chessboard’s leg with her cane, mere inches away from whacking Jonathan in his leg. Jonathan jumped at the noise but otherwise didn't react. He did subtly move his legs closer to his side of the table, though. Farther from the reach of his cane.

“Watch your language. You're in front of a lady.” Jonathan fought the urge to roll his eyes.

“I didn't say… ugh, never mind. I'm sorry.” He uttered, before glaring when she showed no reaction, her eyes back on the game.

_“She probably didn't hear it anyway.”_ He thought. Another beat passed before she spoke:

“‘Now, Tom…”

“Tom?” Jonathan asked, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Sorry, Peter….”

“Who?” He asked.

The older woman winced, thinking aloud. “What’s your name again? Uhh… You! Make your first move. I'm not getting any younger.”

Jonathan sighed, already regretting his decision to play, and moved his first pawn forward.

Before he could even react, her bony hands wrapped around a black pawn and moved it, mirroring his first move. He stared at the board, and deliberated for a few seconds before he moved another pawn again.

Catrina’s moves were quick, as she was clearly taking the time to deliberate her actions while Jonathan considered his.

“You know,” she told him after moving a bishop. “You're the first person to come here and accept it so readily. Most people don't believe they've died. It takes a lot more convincing.”

“Well, when you're friends with a demon, you sort of learn to accept the weird and strange.” He answered, not looking up, studying his pieces. If he had, he would have caught her beaming at him. “Why am I here, anyway? I mean, I know Sock went straight to Hell… he won't shut up about it.”

“Can you honestly say you did anything worth damnation?” Catrina asked him.

He shrugged, making a mental checklist. “Smoked pot. Lied. Shoplifted. Masturbated… is putting bubble gum in Dana Vincent’s hair a sin?”

“I guess not.” Jonathan admitted.

“Though, ruining that poor girl’s hair was definitely not nice.” Catrina chided. Jon scowled, having forgotten she could read minds.

He defended himself, outraged, “I was 9!”

Catrina laughed, once again covering her mouth with her hand. Jon changed the subject. “Then why aren't I in Heaven?” He moved a knight, though he didn't care where, barely noting the board at this point, focusing instead on self-reflection.

“Well, what good have you done?” Catrina asked.

Jon paused, considering. But he couldn't really think of anything. He didn't do volunteer work, or give money to homeless people. Nothing selfless like that.

“Nothing, I guess.” Jon admitted. Despite that, however, he didn't particularly feel too bad about it. So he wasn't selfless: lots of people weren't. Hell, he was friends with a homicidal demon. Jon was practically a saint by comparison. “So what?”

“So what have you done, then?” Jon turned his gaze to her as she asked her question, watching as she moved her Queen for the first time. She was aiming for one of his knights. At least, he thought she was.

“Lived, I guess. I mean I did the school thing. Played guitar…” he paused, not having much to add. It was then he realized he didn't do much of anything at all.

He moved another pawn and wasn't surprised as she took it, effortlessly. He moved his knight. More moves passed between the two in silence, and it seemed like Catrina was waiting for him to say something. Say anything, really. But he didn't, and instead took a pawn of hers, which left his knight open and subsequently captured.

“That's it?” Catrina asked, in disbelief, as he accidentally let a Bishop fall.

“So what if it is?” Jon asked, his irritation growing. He was losing the game, and he really didn't like that this old bat had the nerve to judge him.

“I just thought you might have been doing something worthwhile. That doesn't seem very exciting. In fact, it sounds kind of lonely.” Catrina remarked.

Jon scoffed. “I _wish_ I was lonely. Stupid Sock pesters me all day. Do you know how hard it is to do anything when you've got a demon bothering you? Day in and day out, he keeps begging me to kill myself. I'm glad I'm dead.” He snarled, bitterly. “Maybe now I'll get some peace.”

Catrina made a sad face as she waited for him to make his next move. She adjusted her glasses, studying him as if he were one of the pieces on the board. Almost as if he was able to be moved to her whims.

“What about your family?” She asked him.

“What about them? There's just my mom. She'll be sad, but she'll get over it. Maybe now she'll be able to get out of this podunk town.”

“Won't you miss her?”

_Ring_

Jonathan ignored the sound and waited for it to die before responding. “Of course. But it happened. No sense crying about it.”

“And your friends?” She asked.

“I don't have any. The entire school thinks I'm crazy. All I had was Sock, and I'd hardly call him a friend.” Lines of regret crossed his face after he uttered the words. That wasn't quite right.

“No friends either?” Catrina’s tone was full of sympathy, and it made Jonathan’s stomach turn in knots and his face go flush with embarrassment. He hated having her pity.

“When he wasn't trying to get me to off myself, Sock could be pretty cool. And this girl Lil, she's in my science and art classes and she's okay…” His words drifted off, and a beat of silence passed between them. He could feel her gaze pouring into him, and he broke eye contact, his blue eyes looking downward at the board. He stared at the pieces.

“That’s unfortunate, young man. Everyone should have friends. I thought for sure you’d have one. So… no friends, and you don’t care for your poor mother. What about desires? Isn’t there anything you regret not being able to do?”

Jonathan was thoughtful. Aside from not being able to see Valhalla Soundbox in concert, he couldn’t really think of anything he wanted to do.

“Not really. My life happened. I’m dead now.” He moved another pawn.

Catrina moved a piece in response. “You’ve had a sad life.”

“Why are you surprised? You know everything about me, remember? You're supposed to be Death.” He said the last word in a mocking tone, much to her displeasure. But she looked up at him, seemingly expecting something.

His responses weren’t what Catrina wanted to hear, and he knew it. The look of disapproval she gave him confirmed that. He sensed she wanted something, but he had no idea what it was.

_Ring_

A faint echo of a sound, low and quiet. Catrina ignored it and took another pawn after Jonathan failed to get her knight. She looked at him again. The expectation in her eyes dug away at his insides. Eventually, it became too much and he had to speak.

“What do you want me to say? My life sucked and I'm glad I'm dead. Now can we wrap this up, please? I've got an eternity to live out and I'd rather not spend it with you.” Jon spat, angrily picking up a bishop and slamming it back down.

“Why can't you just relax and enjoy the game, Jonathan?” Catrina asked him, full of concern. She didn't even look at the board as she slid a piece to its proper square.

“Why are we even playing this stupid game anyway?” He snapped back. He moved a white piece. He didn't even care to look at which one. He just knew that he must have moved it in the right place, for Catrina didn't stop to correct him.

“I like chess.”

“No. I mean why are we playing? Why can't you just send me where I'm supposed to go?”

“Where are you supposed to go?”

“I don't know!”

“Where do you want to go?” Catrina asked. She moved her Queen out on the field, the black tall piece gliding across the tiles and past its compatriots.

“I… what?”

_Ring_

“Where do you want to go?” The words burrowed into his chest, made his stomach do flips. He felt nauseated.

“I…. I don’t know, okay? I wasn’t exactly expecting to drop dead.”

“No one does.”

“But I am now. There’s no changing it.” Jonathan thought back to his final moments in the car, trying to adjust the radio, completely oblivious to the truck that came careening down the road.

It was a shitty way to die, for sure. “At least Sock didn’t get me.” It was a minor victory he had over his demon. He wondered if maybe he’d end up in Hell, and if he’d see Sock. How was he supposed to face the demon, when they were on the same playing field? He wondered if Sock would get in trouble for sucking at his job.

_God, I’m pathetic. Worrying about a demon who wanted me dead. Maybe the bag of bones is right. Maybe I am sad._

Jonathan thought back to school, and growing up, and he couldn't remember the last time he had a sleepover, or the last birthday party he had been invited to. He couldn't remember hanging out with buddies after school. What he remembered most was sitting in front of the TV, killing monsters and zombies on PlayStation. Even as a kid, people annoyed him, and he went out of his way to avoid contact with other people. His mom called him “shy”, but Jonathan knew that wasn't it. It was because….

Light snoring from across the table brought him back to the present, and he glanced ahead to see Catrina. She was slumped back in the red chair, arms flailed out on the arm rest. Her head was leaned back, glasses akimbo on her face, threatening to fall off. The thin beginnings of drool were starting to dribble down her open mouth. How long had he been thinking things over? It had only been a few minutes at mot… Or longer? There was no way to gauge how much time had passed here.

Jon shook his head, once more being reminded of his grandmother, and rose from his chair to let the sleeping woman lie. “Sweet dreams.” He whispered to her, before leaning over the board and moving his knight to take one of her undefended pawns. He pocketed it, rather than letting the piece join the few black pieces that he had managed to capture. Then, turning his back to her, he began to walk into the black expanse of nothing.

  
  
  
~~~~~~  
  
Jonathan had no idea of where he was going, or where he'd end up, but a game of chess wasn't going to solve his problem. Catrina had gotten a bit too personal for his liking.

So he walked, into the aimless expanse of nothingness, unsure of what to do next. He hadn't exactly planned on dying, after all. He looked over his shoulder, studying the slowly shrinking form of Catrina as she began to minimize in his field of vision. He felt almost bad, leaving her alone in the chair, and briefly contemplated turning back. But he didn't. He'd have to leave Catrina behind, lest he get stuck in a labyrinth of never-ending personal questions he didn't feel like answering. That, and he wasn't sure he could handle losing more pieces.

Jonathan lost track of how long he was walking, merely going in a straight line. The quagmire of black uniformity began to weigh on him.

_Ring_

The bell, this time, was sharper and louder than any before it, so much so that it felt like Jonathan’s head might split open from the pain. His hands flew to his ears to try and shield himself from the noise, and he desperately wished he had his purple headphones, so that he could play music to blare out the sound. He looked for the source of the ringing, and it was then that something golden and shimmery flittered into view. It was almost invisible, with its faint luminescence being the only thing reassuring Jonathan it was there. It looked like…

“A butterfly?” He asked himself, aloud. Seemingly in reply, the glowing insect flapped its wings and dove down, fluttering above Jonathan's head before dropping low and landing right on his nose. The thin stems of the butterfly’s legs tickled, and he scrunched his face and wiggled his nose till the creature flew off. There was something familiar about that butterfly, he was certain of it.

The butterfly flew ahead, its glow acting like a beacon to guide Jonathan, purposefully flying in front of him. It was then that he saw something off in the distance. It was a small speck, but the feeling in his chest tightened at the sight. Maybe whatever laid ahead would be an escape, or perhaps salvation. He took off and sprinted toward the mysterious figure, the butterfly zipping ahead, a constant companion, leading the way.

The speck grew in size and shape as he approached, the shapes becoming familiar. His run slowed to a light jog and then to a walk as his brain registered exactly what he was seeing. It was a chessboard, and two giant, ruby red velvet-backed chairs. Jonathan’s face turned white as he realized where he was.

“I’m-” he muttered to himself, the rest of the sentence caught in his throat. “-back where I started….”

He glanced back around him, and then dead ahead, trying to figure out the logistics of it all. “Did I somehow go in a circle? That’s impossible. I walked in a straight line….” The butterfly flapped overhead, and Jonathan got the eerie sense the insect was mocking him. The butterfly flew over to the chair, and it was then that Jonathan saw Catrina, who hadn’t moved from her spot. She was wide awake now, and beaming at him.

“There you are! Thank Providence!” she told him, motioning for him to approach. Her voice was genuine, filled with an honest concern for the boy. Jonathan felt a twinge of regret.

The butterfly circled around her chair, flying over her head in intricate swoops and dives. He glanced at the board as he walked over to her, moving without realizing it. Their game had gone entirely untouched. All the pieces were still in place as they were when he departed. And now he was back.

She stood up, the motions of getting out of the chair seemingly difficult for her. She panted and gasped with each effort she made. But Catrina was standing, and the second Jonathan was within distance, the older woman picked up her cane and whacked him with it, square on the head.

The metallic skull collided with his head, and he yelped in pain, his hands immediately flying to his skull to rub at where she stuck him. “OWW!”

“You scared me! How can you just run off like that!?” Catrina demanded. Jonathan’s face turned into a face of anger, all the frustration from before bubbling back to the surface instantaneously. “I was worried about you.” She scolded.

Jonathan stared at her in disbelief. “Worried?!” His voice rose in pitch and intensity.

“Of course. You don’t know what’s out there. It’s dangerous out here in Purgatorio.” she scolded. “Thankfully I had my mariposa to guide you back here.” Catrina looked up at the butterfly and suddenly it descended, landing on the breast of her shirt. Immediately, the creature stopped moving, fixing itself to her shirt and staying there, locked into place. It stopped glowing and became a solid orange.

Jonathan suddenly recognized it. “The broach!” And then it hit him. His blue eyes met her gold ones. “You lead me back here….”

Catrina answered his thought, before he could state it aloud. “Of course. We have a game to finish. Come on, Jonathan.” she said, before turning her back to him and going back towards her chair. Jonathan’s face fell.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked her. He couldn’t believe she wanted to go back to the game, and he got the distinct impression the old lady was straight up messing with him now. And that pissed him off.

Catrina turned back to face him and smiled. “I want to finish the game. So no more running off!”

“I didn’t…. You fell asleep.”

“Nonsense. I was just resting my eyes.”

“Whatever. I’m not playing.” He said. Jonathan was done with the games, both chess and whatever game Death was trying to play with him. Catrina didn’t seem surprised by his obstinence, and instead started to climb back into her seat.

“Okay. Then we can play something else. Checkers? Or perhaps you’d prefer a video game?

Jonathan didn’t answer. He once again longed for his headphones. At least then he’d be able to play some Vallhalla Soundbox and drown her out.

“Silent treatment, huh? For someone who so readily accepted he was dead, you’re putting up a lot of resistance now. What’s wrong? Scared this old lady is going to beat you?”

Jonathan ignored her goading. Catrina’s face fell, and her eyes suddenly appeared sunken and hollow. With the white makeup covering her face, and without the warmth of her bright golden eyes, she really looked like a skeleton. Jonathan felt goosebumps crawl up and down his skin, and he suddenly found he was unable to move. An overwhelming sense of dread filled him, and he felt like he was simultaneously going to void his bowels and throw up.

“Let’s make this more interesting, shall we?” Catrina challenged. Her voice was hoarse and grating, completely devoid of any warmth or mirth she previously possessed. Suddenly, Jonathan felt the void around him growing larger and larger and larger still. But it wasn’t just the void. The red chair that Catrina was on also grew in stature, and so too did the chessboard and all the pieces.

Jonathan closed his eyes, for the first time since he was dead feeling an actual taste of genuine fear. When he opened them, he saw that the void he was in had gotten replaced with a chessboard. The white and black alternating tile was the only floor he saw, and straight ahead were the chess pieces, which matched him in height and build. The blood-red chairs sat beyond the board where the chess floor ended, towering over the board. A giant Catrina sat, smiling down at him.

He had been shrunk!

And Jonathan was standing on the board, on the front lines, as a pawn, having taken the place of one of his own pieces.

“Hey! What’d you do to me?” he yelled out to her.

Catrina’s golden eyes flashed with a mischievous glint. “I made it so you can’t avoid me.” she said. “Now I believe it’s **MY** move.”

A large, bone-like hand lifted up her Queen, moving it one space forward. As it hit the ground, there was a loud….

_Ring_

Jonathan was opposite her Queen, with only a few white pieces in the way. They were his last lines of defense. A knight and a rook were the only things stopping him from being taken. He suddenly wished he paid more attention to the game and the pieces he moved.

“Wait! I’ll play, I’ll play! I promise. Just grow me back and…” Jonathan said, frantically waving his arms to try and get the giant Catrina’s attention. The woman placed a bony hand over her mouth and laughed a long, noble laugh.

“Too late for that, my little pawn! **You’re in the game now, and we’re playing for keeps!** ” Catrina said, with a giddy glee that was full of enthusiasm. Before, it would have been charming, if slightly annoying. But now, superimposed and giant, it was horrifying.

Jonathan immediately backed up, found his back brushed up against something hard and solid. It had the cold touch of metal, but it was invisible, and Jonathan could see through it. He tried to move back, but his movement was impeded.

“Pawns only move forward in chess.” Catrina reminded him, and the square directly in front of him suddenly glowed, like the butterfly, as if calling him forward. But if he moved, he’d be one step closer towards her Queen, who looked absolutely menacing, even at his eye level.

“I just won’t move. Then she can’t-”

“If you don’t move, I’ll consider it as you forfeiting your turn.” Catrina warned. She had him.

Jonathan suddenly found himself shaking, for the second time feeling real and genuine fear. Any and all doubts he had about Catrina being Death were washed away, and he felt a sickening sort of dread. He cautiously moved forward, not seeing any other options. He couldn’t move any of his pieces at his size, so he couldn’t even move any pieces to try and take her Queen out. All he could do was move forward.

Catrina moved her Queen again, taking out the knight, and leaving one lone castle standing between them. As her Queen touched the ground, he head a-

_Ring_

The ground trembled, and Jonathan nearly doubled over, the sound echoing and giving him a sharp headache. He glared up at the woman, who was clearly having the time of her life as she cradled his Knight in her hand and placed it in the discarded pieces pile.

“What did you mean, play for keeps?”

Catrina smiled, her broach lighting up and her white hair shimmering vibrantly. “I mean I keep your soul. That’s what we’ve been playing for, you see. If you won, I would have brought you back to life. But since you weren’t interested in that…. You might as well just surrender. Because once I remove you from play, it’s over… A defeated pawn can’t command a King.”

Jonathan’s face turned as white as the marbled white square below him. Suddenly he recalled all her attempts to force him to play, and how he resisted. He could have gotten it over and won, and then he’d be alive. But now…

“Wait, okay. I’m sorry. I’ll play. Just grow me back.” Jonathan begged. Catrina was stoic.

“Your move, Jonathan Combs.”

“Please, don’t make me move, I don’t want to. Look, I….”

“Are you passing your turn?” Catrina asked. The chessboard in front of Jon glowed, inviting him forward.

“Wait, can we just talk, please?”

Silence from the woman.

“PLEASE?” he shouted.

“Very well. You pass.” Catrina said, with finality, before picking up her Queen again. She moved it forward again, this time capturing the Rook. When the Queen landed on the board, a loud noise split through the air. It was a...

_Ring_

As it hit the floor. Jonathan doubled over again, this time hitting the floor as the vibrations from the piece were too strong to ignore. He laid there, looking up at the massive older woman, who’s grin was almost as big as the board itself. Her makeup was extremely intricately done, with lots of floral designs drawn in black that was offset by white. It was almost as beautiful as it was horrifying.

“Please…” he begged, staring up as eyes that looked at him with no remorse. The pity had faded. He watched her massive hand discard the Rook. Now there was nothing protecting him from the Queen, and the Queen was only a space away. Her next move would be the last, and Jonathan would be removed from play.

“I don’t want to die. I’m not ready to die. There’s so much I haven’t done.” Jonathan begged, his eyes welled up with tears as the reality of the situation bore down on him like that imposing Queen had on his rook not a minute ago.

“This is it. I’m going to be finished. And there’s so much I didn’t get to do.” He never got a kiss a girl, or have sex, or even hold down a job. He’d never get to graduate, or go to college or play guitar or see his favorite bands ever again. Everything which once seemed trivial and stupid to him now seemed like a bunch of wasted opportunities.

_“I could have had friends.”_

_“Maybe a girlfriend.”_

_“I could have started a band…”_

“Your move.” Catrina reminded him. But Jonathan didn’t move, too afraid. A few beats passed, and Catrina asked. “Passing again?” When he didn’t answer, she nodded grimly. “Very well.”

Jonathan gulped, knowing what was coming next. Soon it would be over. He thought of his mom, now alone in the world without anyone, unable to see him walk down the aisle. He thought of the kids of school, and of Lil. Would she even notice he was dead and gone? Would any of them? He thought of Sock, who never got to finish his job. Who maybe could have been his friend...

“There’s so much I want to do! I don’t want to be taken now! I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. I DON’T WANT TO DIE!” Jonathan shouted, the tears trailing down his face in thin streams.

But it was too late. Everything had been taken from him. His entire existence, which he had taken for granted, was about to end. All in a single move. He shut his eyes as Catrina reached for her piece, unable to watch the Queen take him…

_Ring_

Jonathan opened his eyes to find himself sitting across from Catrina, in the plush red armchair, as he had been when the game had started. He was back to normal size. Through tear-soaked eyes he looked at her, and Catrina merely smiled and pointed at the board. Her black king was laying on its side.

“I surrender. You win.” Catrina conceded, beaming warmth and excitement. Jonathan wiped his eyes on his bloodied sleeves, studying the board. He had to make sure he was seeing this correctly.

“I don’t understand.” Jonathan said, sniffling and trying his damndest to stop the tears from falling.

“You won. You can have your life back.” Catrina said.

“But… why? I mean, you had me… I was going to…”

Catrina shrugged. “Well I changed my mind. I saw how much you missed being alive, and figured maybe now that you see the value of life, you deserved a second chance.” Catrina said. Jonathan stared at her, dumbstruck.

“Wait, what?” he asked.

Catrina merely laughed, her hand going to her mouth again. “Ohohohoho. You were so blasé and indifferent, with your tough guy act, and then the second I had you scared you cried like a baby!” She laughed. Jonathan turned red with embarrassment, completely humiliated. “I knew that would get you to crack. You were never in any real danger. This was all just a game!”

Jonathan’s mouth dropped, and he turned as red as the chair he sat in. “So… All that was for nothing!? You tricked me!?”

Catrina nodded. “Yes indeedy. This isn’t even what Purgatorio looks like!” She pressed a button on her cane, and the black walls and ceiling suddenly fell away, disappearing out of thin air, almost like it was a hologram. Jonathan was in a field full of marigold flowers. The sky was an eternal sunset, a mix of orange, purple and pink hues. Colorful butterflies dotted the skies, in varying beautiful colors. A faded sunset bathed everything in a relaxing glow, and made Catrina’s makeup look all the more stunning.

“Whoa….” Jonathan muttered, looking all around. “It’s… beautiful.”

“Life is full of beautiful things. It’s something you should never take for granted. Being indifferent isn’t living, and all you’ll have is a bunch of regrets. But I’m sure you know that, now.”

“I don’t understand, why go to all this trouble?” Jonathan asked.

Catrina laughed again, giddy and full of glee. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, sometimes you have to make your own fun. And it was worth it, wasn’t it? Now you appreciate what you have. Although… You really should have seen your face as the Queen came at you. Heehee…”

“I can’t…. I don’t believe it…” Jon muttered, staring at her.

“Well, believe it, young man. Now, I’m going to send you back. Can you promise me that you won’t take life for granted anymore? Stop shutting people out and let them in. Take those headphones off once in a while.” Catrina scolded, and Jonathan was once more reminded of his grandmother.

Before he realized it. He was smiling. “Okay. Thank you.” Catrina rose up from her chair and he followed suit, getting own of his own chair. Catrina approached him, using her cane to walk in slow, calculated steps. The old woman reached him and looked up at him, as Jonathan towered over her small frame.

“Thank you for the game, Jonathan Combs. I haven’t had that much fun in a long time.” There was a sincerity in her tone, and it made Jonathan feel all warm and fuzzy. Before he might have ignored the sensation, or pretended it wasn’t happening, but this time he embraced it.

Jonathan looked down at her. “No prob. Thanks for… everything.” he said. Before he knew it, he reached over and pulled her into a hug. It was clumsy and all too awkward, befitting Jonathan, who hadn’t given nor received a hug in years.

But for Catrina it was perfect.

_Ring_

And then Jonathan was gone.

The woman walked over to her chessboard. She glanced out at her field of marigolds and her flying butterflies, content. Then she set up the board, waiting for her next opponent.

  
  
  
~~~~~

“So, you just let the kid go? You coulda let me have him, Calvera.” The tall, ginger man said as he peered over the board, his too long legs practically scrunched under the table.

“Quit stalling and move.” Catrina chided.

“I mean, why’d you do that? You know I wanted Combs.”

“Cause it’s not his time.”

“Well, I still got Sowachowski on him. He’ll be mine, eventually.” the man promised. “When’s that gonna be, anyhow?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Catrina challenged.

The ginger man with the Jersey accent and the nice tailored suit studied the board. “Hey, y’know one of yer pawns is missin’, right?”


End file.
